Being an insomnia is more exciting at times than others. For instance, there is happening upon the documentary about insomniacs @ 3am. Or seeing the Shake-weight commercial for Men for the first time and being in total disbelief it is a real product until you actually see it in your local Target. Please realize I am stating all of this with my tongue firmly implanted in my cheek 🙂 Part of my insomnia routine is writing…naturally, watching abysmally awful reality tv, and trolling online looking for the best coupon codes, or printables for what I need to get in the next few days. I am the absolute queen at finding a deal 😉

So, I found a great printable for a free pair of panties @ Victoria’s secret, printed wirelessly thru the network and got the error message “out of paper”. Crap, it’s 1:00am, downstairs I go. I take two steps into my dining room and there sits a chipmunk staring at me. A CHIPMUNK!! And he had this look on his smug little face like “what the f*ck are you doing here!” So I give chase. I tried to catch the little f*@ker for over 2 hrs by setting traps of tupperware & chopsticks, with peanut butter sandwiches inside, blankets on strings, regular rube goldberg machines! I’m one hell of a MacGyver I tell Ya! But catching the little chip-punk was not easy–cagey little bugger. So I went back upstairs to go to bed. The next morning, my hubby reports that when he came down to make coffee, the chip-punk greeted him eating an english muffin. Boy, he’s making himself right at home! Now, I’m pissed. So the dogs and I have a talk and I inform them they need to earn their keep and catch the bugger. Several possible day sightings, but no luck.

Day 2, 1am, I go down to see if I can spot this ninja chipmunk. Nada. A short while later, hubby said that our puggle was growling at the corner of a cabinet, but came up empty. I get in bed a short while later, and notice Ginger, our puggle is vigorously chewing on a toy. So I ask her to stop, it was annoying. She didn’t stop so I said “give” and she deposited the “toy” in my hand. Said “toy” was the nearly/mostly/or freshly dead chipmunk. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww! Nothing like having a slimy, wet, dead animal in your hand, in bed. So I wake up the hubby, inform him of the crime scene our bed has become, and pass him the cadaver to be disposed of. This city chick does not do dead cute animals.

Now, I am glad to not have to deal with he reign of terror of the chipmunk anymore, but my god, did it have to end with the little boogers dead body in my BED?!?!? And yes, that question is now rhetorical.